**Stefano’s POV**

I slammed the file shut and shoved it to the far edge of the desk.

It had been days since I’d stood on that curb in Porta Nuova, yet my chest still felt bruised, as if a rib had been snapped and left to rot against my lungs. I hadn’t been myself since that encounter, since standing on that curb and realizing that hope was a weakness I had never learned to control.

I didn’t know why I had allowed myself to hope.

Hope was a luxury I hadn’t been raised with. It wasn't ...